Wild Geese 

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

© Mary Oliver.

Paris, 2010!

Brandade de Morue (hot salt cod 'paté') at Le Balbuzard - yum!

So far this trip has been absolutely jam packed.  Day one, after arriving at 8:45 in the morning, we headed straight for a brasserie where I had brandade de morue (this is the perfect breakfast food after a trans-continental, trans-oceanic flight).  Dean had cous cous and is still suffering order envy.  The brandade as hot and salty and, of course, came with loads of bread and butter.  For dinner we went somewhere else but I honestly can't remember where...such is the reality of jet lag.  But I do remember the Salade Composée Italienne - ordinarie, but good!! Dean had Dorade - he did not have order-envy..



Salade Italienne, with hot chevre on toast, anchovies, tuna and salami - a light supper.

Hilarious that they think putting a spot of sauce in the eye makes it look less shocking.

We did not get out the camera last night at Astier, although I was seldom more tempted.  We found this restaurant in Fodor's and took their advice.  The whole meal was excellent, but it was the cheese tray that stole the show.  A 16" diameter platter carrying 18 different French cheeses was brought to the table, between the main course and desert.  I would likely not have tried most of these under other circumstances, crusted with weird looking molds and oozing out of their skins as they were, but I took the leap and must now become a cheese snob.  I also discovered, via a guinea fowl stuffed with a mixture made from the giblets, that liver (of tiny birds) is lovely, and white pepper has its place in the world after all! I also discovered yesterday that a good pork loin stuffed with a single chorizo is a fine lunch after a morning of Rodin.  Although Dean's pave de lieu faune (fancy bistro term for Pollack) also looked like a good choice.

Not an optical illusion - the stairs really are like this.

This trip has made me face one of my most persistent fears, daily. That being the fear of death by falling - down a staircase in particular.  Our apartment is lovely, modern, clean, warm and bright.  But the buidling itself is in real need of reepair.  The staircase and landings are truly terrifying, and not just a small bit dangerous. The stair case appears to be falling inward, and the stairs themselves are worn by decades ( maybe centuries) of feet to such an extent that they tip both laterally and horizontally.  The result is a staircase that could have been designed by Dali.  Day by day I am becoming accustomed to leaving the apartment and stepping onto a tiled landing that slides away from the door is if to hurl you down the stairs.  The worst parts of the stairs are on the inside, but the outside edges have no rails in places, and in others the rails are pulling out of the plaster.  Oh well - maybe by the end of the visit I will have concurred my fear and leave here a new woman, sure on her feet.

And finally, a few pictures I took in the Rodin Museum.  We were very lucky to be there on a sunny day, and you can get ridiculously close to these sumptuous sculptures.

The Kiss

Eternal Icon

Two great thinkers.

Not Rodin.  This is an Egyptian piece (circa 300-350 BC) Rodin owned.

Zsa Zsa mania

Yasmeene - so beautiful!!

When I was a girl - being a girl was one of two things.  Being a girl.  Being a non-girl.  A non-girl did not do the girl thing .  In fact - being a girl was what you did NOT do.  No fancy stuff - no hair "product" - no pink things - no fancy jewellery - no make-up.  It was the 70s.  Being a "girl" was weak and silly.  Nobody was that shallow.  But in our hearts we all yearned to be girls  -  to be glamorous.  Now - girls have that freedom - they can slap on the fake eyelashes and powder in their eye brows and it's okay!!  Who knew.  And I think it's time that my generation was allowed to be feminine without the whole shit load of guilt.  So - I had the Zsa Zsa party and we were gorgeous!!; And here's the proof.....

Okay - so Sharon was not totally into the fake eyelashes but... 

Cheryl - she got it - even though she's younger

omg - I wish I had the gams to wear shoes.

now - here's the real proof of need to be glam girls  - me and Brenda-Lee - my gorgeous co-worker....we were so happy to be free to be gorgeous without the judgement....rock on BL...you are so lovely.

And Usha - who was there in her stunning outfit...suitable for a star.  Usha - we did not know how gorgeous you were until now!!

Lisa and Paulette discovered the joy of a champagne glass.  Lisa is wearing a wintage 50s dress she bought in Cape Breton and Paulette is just plain fabulous!

Paulette, moi, Brenda-Lee, Cheryl avec des fleures de ma mère.  Let's be gorgeous!

Allyson, Amber and Paulette waiting for glamour!  It is coming...

oh abby..   you are the best of all

The end of cynicism?

Twice today I heard this message. Cynicism is wrong. At the rally against the prorogation of parliament the young organizer urged the crowd not to give in to cynicism, but to understand that they can make change. "Vote" was the message there. And Conan O'Brien's astounding farewell speech also lays out the cold hard reality. We are all enormously fortunate. Work hard, be kind and amazing things will happen. He is right. Whining, dropping out, buying into apocalyptic pessimism won't help. And it's immoral for generations of people who've had it so good.

Some cautionary thinking about how not to 'help' Haiti

$1.8 billion for hubris. $100M for Haiti

I am not usually one to jump fully on to anti-anything bandwagons, at least not for long, but today I am feeling extremely anti VANOC. In the lead up to the Olympic games there has been an increasing number of vacuous athletes talking about how 'awesome' it is and how 'my parents really supported me? like every step?'. They are 'going to do their best to make Canada proud. And then there are the 'elite' athletes who's hubris knows no bounds. And we are spending hundred of millions of dollars to prop up this, brittle, useless veneer of patriotism. It will last for two weeks and then we'll go back to grumbling about how bad we got it, and how we shouldn't have to pay tax, the weather is appalling and the Oilers suck.

The Government of Canada has proudly announced that it will match Canadian donations to relief efforts in Haiti to a maximum of $100M. Excuse me if I am underwhelmed. Want to make Canadians proud? Melt down the silly gold medals awarded for feats of chance, (I dunno Ron I felt real good. I was just there today. I gave it everything you know - I was like really focussed - it was my time Ron - it was my day today- wooohoooo) and give the raw materials to Haiti.  I mean they don't do it for the metal, they do it for the endorsements, which they can keep. 

And don't give me that crap about how it's all an investment that will pay off huge economic benefit for the people of (zzzzz I'm asleep). The most intelligent investment we can make in our future stability is an investment in the health, education, well-being and stability of our poorest neighbours. Maybe create a society where boys grow up playing soccer on the beach, not learning to use machetes to protect their little sisters.  Not a lot of photo opps I suppose. Not a lot of happy white guys.  Right.  What am I thinking.